


By Your Side

by LittleHoneyPott



Category: Aragami Game
Genre: Aragami - Freeform, Aragami game - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Other, Sword Spirit AU!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23748352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleHoneyPott/pseuds/LittleHoneyPott
Summary: You are a historian disaster. Clumsy, anti-social, and completely pessimistic, yet a passion for your job plus your greed for knowledge takes you far from your office.Perhaps a bit too far — as you find yourself waking up on ruins of ancient grounds without remembering how you got there. You're lost, completely lost.Oh, and also, as if that wasn't bad enough, for some unknown reason, everyone is hunting you down — they want you dead.
Relationships: Kaiho's General — Ryo/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so I got mad that no one made Aragami fanfiction, and like, it's a really cool game and it has a cool story too.  
> So I decided to try to make one myself, y'know, with romance and stuff (because I'm a sucker for it), so here you go!  
> I know it won't be as popular as my other fanfics but it still is a huge accomplishment for me making this :D
> 
> Also, if you don't know the game, you still can understand this story, so enjoy!
> 
> PS.: In case you get confused, the reader is referred to in neutral pronouns (they/their) as I'm using the third point of view in this story.

The first thing they could remember was waking up on a cold, rock-solid ground that froze their soul to the core. Body aching from head to toe, they could barely move. It took them nothing more than a few seconds to acknowledge the foreign air surrounding them, reflexes kicking in immediately. Something is wrong. 

Snapping their eyes open, the historian's instinct was to grasp at something — anything to prevent danger, ready for defense. Their hand rushed towards their hip, and a grunt was heard when there was no weapon to be found. Seen no options left, they use the same hand to lift themselves from the grayish floor. Now, while their knees touched the surface, a question suddenly arose between fuzzy thoughts. 

"Where am I?" 

There were tall golden pillars in line on both of their sides, plus a stunning chandelier far above that was made of the same material, worthy of royalty, which complemented the sophisticated yet dead palace. Followed by the pillars, a few platforms were hanged by the ceiling; most of them had fallen, leaving disruption across the ground. 

Slowly lifting their weak body from the ground, they could smell how old that place was, — rust, as well as a subtle odor of rotten fruits, filled the ambient, — sneezing lightly, they finally stand up to their feet, better analyzing their surroundings. It was impossible not to let out a gasp as they catch a glimpse of a colossal statue of a fox with nine tails, whose paws rested on the sides of a stone throne as big as its size. Sunrise shined from behind the fox's tails, which could only be seen due to the destroyed wall behind the throne room, the upper half of it missing. 

They paced further into the room; every step echoed loudly despite their caution — it wasn’t a surprise, in fact, the goofy historian had quite a reputation of tripping over the air; uncountable bruises covered their body; it was proof of their bad luck charm. 

How they happen to be in these ruins was a mystery; one that they were too scared to think about, yet too anxious to ignore. 

It took them a while to notice that there was something unusual just before the throne. In front of them, shone a golden sword — half of its blade fiercely shoved into the ground —, and a tiny, old rag doll, whose white hair tangled in braids, leaned peacefully against the golden weapon. 

As far as they knew, they had never heard of such a peculiar scene before, which was almost impossible. They were the most passionate of their field, spending hours, days, months — their whole life even — studying the history of their land, and searching artifacts of its history. A sword displayed dramatically inside some ruins of an old temple? Perhaps if they were younger and more naïve, they’d think this was a calling for an exciting adventure. One where a hero would save the princess from a dangerous dragon. They always knew, however, that they’d probably die due to their clumsiness much before arriving at the fire monster. 

However, what they knew, what they _felt_ , was a strong energy coming from the sword — one that called to them the further they approached it — that could never be taught in books, neither told in myths. It danced inside their lungs, flowed inside their veins, and pulled strings between his thoughts. They barely noticed the inaudible voices impeding their thoughts to speak up; the divine details on the blade were too distracting, and so blinded their reasoning. 

Curiosity possessed their body, as it always did when it came to artifacts yet not discovered. It was the most magnificent sword they’ve ever seen. Although it seemed ancient, there was not a single vestige of rust, unlike what they smelt previously. Could they perhaps use it? The historian knew the weapon was untouched for at least a few years using little observation — if it was important, or even rare, wouldn’t anyone try to search for it? An enthusiastic like them should at least have heard about a sword made of gold hidden inside of an abandoned palace of sorts. 

'What are you doing? Turn away and run,' an irritated voice warned inside their head, trying to bring reason. 

'It's not safe,' one pointed out softy. 

Nevertheless, the alert was carelessly ignored. Thus, before the studious one could notice, their feet moved up the stairs, closer to the throne, and even closer to the golden weapon. The voices wouldn’t stop, in fact, they proceeded to get more desperate. Although they were predominant inside the historian's fragile mind, their actions didn't seem to be directed by the voices, but rather the historian themself. If they could notice their actions, they surely wouldn’t recognize themself. 

'What you’re doing doesn’t make any sense!' it argued. 

'You shouldn’t take what doesn’t belong to you.’ 

It didn't take long until the sword was right in front of them — its glow was so intense, that they completely forgot about the ragdoll sitting beside it. 

'Let it go! Snap out of it! Can't you see that you're being controlled?' 

'Please, just let it be,' it pleaded, 'Don't do this.' 

Their fingers slowly worked their way to the hilt. But before they could touch it, the voices spoke once more: 

‘You're making a mistake, can't you see? Are you really that stupid?’ 

‘Why won’t you listen? Why?’ 

Once again, the historian paid no attention to them. Both of their natural skilled hands wrapped tightly around the sword. Eyes fixed on the weapon before them, letting out low breaths as heavy as the world itself — 

**'You'll regret this, young one.'**

* * *

Woken up from a deep slumber, darkness slowly surrendered to light, and images formed ahead while the historian attempted to focus. For the second time that day, they rise from the cold ground. Their body hurts badly. They’re uncertain of where they are — and what a funny smell. There was nobody to be seen except for them. Still, it didn’t sense like so. 

‘Why do I feel like I’ve been through this before?’, they think. 

As they glanced at the floor beneath them, they feel being observed, then they suddenly realize: danger is near. There was a huge crack on the ground where they stood, which they almost tripped on as they rushed to get on their feet. In a matter of seconds their hand fly, drawing a golden sword from their side, it stumbles between their fingers and falls right after. The historian furrows their eyebrows in confusion at the weapon whilst they reached for it. Its glow screamed at them in a unique way, the handle felt as if it was made for them; perfect weight as well — not too heavy as it didn’t tire his arm, still not as much light that felt like the sword would sweep out of their hands at first slash. Inside their head, it was as if the sword had always been by their side. Every training or war, being during a victory or defeat, it accompanied them, guided them, took care of them. Which, of course, was a new feeling to them since they had never battled. Nevertheless, it yet felt... Home. If felt like home, somehow. 

“You,” a deep, and monotone voice said from behind them. They immediately jump at the sound, glaring at the direction it came from. Eyes wide, couldn’t believe what they saw. There, _he_ stood. 

A man whose body was made of pure light and eyes shone brighter than the sun itself; he stared blankly at them with both hands resting behind his back, irradiating a dominant posture. The studious one felt many times smaller compared to the radiant entity; his white gaze alone pierced their soul — just as his inhuman glow expanded his size to every corner of the room due to the reflection from the chandelier hanging above. Despise the armor covering his tall body, the volume of his muscles was clear as day — he could easily snap the warrior in half if he wanted to. 

“—Who are you?” they inquired at the figure, who said nothing as he shifted his gaze, visibly reflecting to himself for a few seconds. 

“I believe you have my sword,” he stated, looking at the historian once again, “Which happens to be the one you are holding.” 

Silence cut the air like knives whilst the man’s expression sharpened, his muscles tensed, and he ambled towards the shorter one. 

The historian gulped as they stared back, not daring to blink even if their eyes dry, hands shaking, barely letting the weapon slip through his fingers the second time. 

‘Seems like I upset a god — wonderful!’ they lamented. 

Realizations hit them in a matter of seconds. They probably couldn’t win this man in battle since they didn’t know what he was capable of; Also, they found themselves in an unknown place — trying to flee was useless if not knowing where to go. Trembling head to toe from anticipation, they clutched the sword. 

‘Years of studying... for this? Am I ever going to be found in this place? Will I be recognized? Or will I be forgotten and it’ll be like I never existed?’ 

The entity was getting closer. 

‘What now?’ 

Then, he stopped, inches away from the shorter one. 

‘Should I say something?’ 

Time vanished as the two of them lost themselves in each other’s eyes. 

The strong, light man sighed. 

He lowered his head. 

Then kneeled before the historian; one hand against his chest, just above where his heart would be, whilst the other still rested behind his back. 

“You, as the one who wield my sword, are granted my services as long as I exist. I, the spirit who lives within this sword you hold, shall provide you all the protection, strength, and wisdom that I own. My name is Ryo,” he lifted his head to watch the historian’s disbelieved face, “And it is my honor to be beside someone as wise as yourself, _master_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my work! :]  
> I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing this!  
> There are more chapters to come, but it might take some time since I have other fanfics on my list. Let me know your opinions on this, it really means a lot to me :D
> 
> And as always, have a wonderful day! ;3


End file.
